


leave my crowded chest (soar up into the air)

by kimaracretak



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Angst, Body Worship, F/F, Female Kylo Ren, First Time, Kylo Ren Cries During Sex, Light Dom/sub, Past Abuse, Porn with Feelings, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Praise Kink, Smut as Character Work, Submissive Kylo Ren, Subspace, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-23 20:26:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14340270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/pseuds/kimaracretak
Summary: Kylo cries in her sleep. Rey wants to help.





	leave my crowded chest (soar up into the air)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tristesses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristesses/gifts).



> A note on tags: The sex in this is written from Kylo's POV, and she spends all of it pretty deeply in subspace, from a combination of past abuse and her forcebond with/desire for Rey. Rey is questionably aware of this and does not set out to be Kylo's domme, but ends up -- from Kylo's perspective -- in that position anyway, hence 'under-negotiated kink'. It's on the lighter side of darkfic, in that neither is setting out to hurt the other, but things are definitely not made better by the end.
> 
> I can never resist the opportunity to write fem!Kylo and I hope you like this :)
> 
> Title from Visions of Atlantis, 'Wing-Shaped Heart'. Beta'd by the magnificent @Trish47.

Kylo Ren cries in her sleep.

Rey doesn't want to know this about her. Rey had, for a long time, pretended she _didn't_  know this about the other woman. Had, for a full week, sat up during the long, freezing Hoth nights, in the one common room that the Resistance could spare the fuel to heat, and pretended someone else was crying.

Rose, grieving her sister. Leia, as she dozes fitfully against Admiral Holdo's side across the room. Finn, who still has nightmares.

But there's no air in the room, there's hardly air in her lungs, just the deep hollow _something_ that is the Force, that is Kylo just out of reach.

Rey buries her head in her knees and pretends that she isn't crying too, that the memory of Kylo's kiss doesn't still burn her palm.

Finally, after a week, when Kylo's sobs seem worse than usual — so strong that Rey feels her body tremble in an echo of Kylo's pain — she decides to brave the cold long enough to find some solitude on the _Falcon._

It's just so Kylo stops keeping her awake, she tells herself firmly, and deliberately does not unpick all the strands of _want_ and _fear_ and _regret_ that have knotted themselves into a ball in the pit of her stomach.

 

**

 

Kylo Ren doesn't cry in her sleep.

She tells herself this morning after morning, when she wakes curled in a ball on her too-small bed, her face salt-sticky and her pillows damp with tears. If she cried in her sleep then the Supreme Leader would —

Snoke would —

But _she's_ the Supreme Leader now, and there's no one to hear her sob, not even a maintenance droid. It's better this way. It has to be.

So she doesn't think about how she's alone, or about how Rey had been the first other person she'd seen cry, had gotten her nails into something far under Kylo's skin and ripped it back more lethal than a lightsaber and twice as unkind, and left her with the sort of tears that she couldn't twist to fuel the Force.

So Kylo cries, and doesn't think about how even though it's more tiring than training she still can't sleep through the night.

She's flat on her back on the floor one night a week — two weeks? A month? Time is fuzzy at the edges of her eyes these days, days even more meaningless than the monotony of hyperspace jumps usually make them — when she feels all the air seem to leave the room with a hollow thud that settles somewhere deep in her lungs.

It's the sort of dull nothingness that she would almost welcome, were it not so familiar.

"No," she says, covering her face with her arm and not even bothering to pretend it's to stop her tears. "You don't get to come back like this, Rey."

"Not really my choice, is it?" She's close, Kylo can tell. Maybe even on the floor with her. "Besides, you're the one sobbing on me every night."

"Am not," she says automatically. _Politicians don't cry, Breha. Apprentices who cry are unworthy, pup._ Rey will know the lie immediately, of course, but the ritual of denial is too well practised.

There's a pause, like Rey's considering whether to respond, and it goes on for long enough that for one wild moment Kylo allows herself to hope that she's left. It's a foolish hope, the warm suffocating _nothing_ that signals their bond is active is still smothering her, but hope is ...

Too easy to fall into, these days, and Kylo hates Rey for reminding her that she could hope just before taking away all she had ever dreamed of.

"Move ov — are you on the _floor_?" Rey's presence had thrown her enough that she'd forgotten, but, yes, Kylo realises, she is on the floor, and Rey is lying on the floor next to her. And the only reason Kylo knows _that_ is that Rey's skin is burning hot where it touches her, a contrast to the metal and the freezing ship's air that Kylo's breastband and underwear do little to mitigate. "Why are you on the floor?" Rey persists when she doesn't get an answer.

Kylo groans. She isn't going to explain her sleeping choices to Rey in her own kriffing quarters. And if she stays annoyed she can stop herself from making any of the myriad other embarrassing noises that even the faint pressure of Rey's thigh against her own is too close to provoking. "Don't tell me you're suddenly too good for sleeping on the floor, Resistance hero."

 _Tell me you are_ , she might have said, if Rey had left differently. _Tell me you're safe, with a bed, and that my mother is ..._

But the Resistance is next to nothing, and Rey chose them anyway. Part of Kylo almost admires her for it.

The rest of her, the part that's screaming at her to get up, to move away from the warmth and false comfort that Rey's body on the floor offers her, can only think about how much worse that makes the fact that Rey hasn't chosen to be with her tonight.

"I'm not," Rey says, and it takes a half-second too long for Kylo to move away from the way Rey's fingertips are tickling the edge of her wrist and realise she means _I'm not too good for sleeping on the floor_. "You keep me awake when you cry, is all. Maybe if you moved off the floor, it would help."

Kylo shrugs. "Ignore me." _Like everyone else did_ , she doesn't say. Rey had known that, and it hadn't mattered enough.

Rey makes an incoherent noise of frustration and elbows her in the side, and Kylo chokes back a whimper at the jolt of arousal that sends through her. She swallows hard, tries to focus on the lights dancing behind her tightly shut eyes. "It's not that simple. You're ..."

"A monster," Kylo finishes dully. Apparently Rey's creativity with weapons didn't extend to words. Maybe Leia will be disappointed in her, too.

"Not only that." Kylo feels Rey's hand creep into hers, and she's imagined death more times than she could count but it had never felt like this before. "You're more than that. You can be." She's so close that Kylo thinks if she opened her eyes, she would be staring right into Rey's, and she would be burned to ash before she could blink.

"You made a choice." Kylo doesn't think about that day much, about the blasted remnants of the room that had held so much pain. She thinks she must have made a choice too, but when she does think back, all she can see is Rey turning away.

Rey falls silent again. Kylo can't resist the urge to interlace her fingers with Rey's, even as she presses her thighs together and hopes the kriffing bond decides to sever so she can have some time alone to get off while trying to pointedly _not_ think about Rey.

"I can feel you thinking," Rey observes, and there's just enough of a knowing edge to the words that Kylo's cheeks flame with embarrassment, but she doesn't move away. Rey was the one who had shown up in Kylo's quarters, Rey was perfectly free to go somewhere else.

Kylo has no intention of moving off the floor. Not even when Rey's lips press against her bare shoulder, though she starts so violently her back does arch up off the durasteel.

"Oh," Rey murmurs, and Kylo shivers as her lips brush her skin. Was Rey's Force projection always this hot? They had touched so briefly, before Skywalker had ruined everything. "That's interesting."

"Wh — what are you doing?" Kylo asks hoarsely. She moves the arm covering her eyes, and it's so much easier like this to imagine Rey at her side.

Rey's lips find her shoulder again. "Distracting you. Indulging a curiosity. Or three." Each sentence is punctuated with a kiss, and Kylo can't stop the high-pitched whimper that escapes her at the last one, the one with just a hint of teeth.

She wants to let Rey explore until her curiosity is utterly satisfied. She hopes it never will be.

"Well," Kylo says. "That's alright, then." She's trying for uncaring, like Rey's barest touch hasn't sunk into her blood and unspooled all the tension of the past month, softened it into something that would be pleasant if it wasn't so temporary, but knows the breathiness in her voice must give _something_ away.

Rey's lips pause in their path towards Kylo's collarbone. " _Is_ this alright?"

Kylo doesn't answer. Answering would mean putting words to the new space she's found herself in, one not unlike the one she used to construct to escape from Snoke's pain before she learned how to channel it into her own power. Instead, she focusses on the odd contentment slowly starting to build in her chest, and hopes Rey understands what she means.

"You'll tell me, if it's not?" Rey persists, and Kylo doesn't want to lie to her but she also wants to say anything that will mean Rey's mouth will settle on her again, soft and soothing and gently stoking a fiery _need_ that Kylo wants to fall into and never leave.

So instead she turns her head, her mouth blindly seeking Rey's, and later she will, maybe, be surprised at the tentativeness overlying the kiss — she had expected Rey to be as fierce and wild in this as she was on the battlefield, as she is in the dreams that leave Kylo waking drenched in sweat with her fingers in her cunt and a dizzying gratitude there are no other Force-sensitives on the ship in her heart.

But in the moment there's only the soft heat of Rey's lips, a warm pressure anchoring her to the very edge of awareness.

It feels like a gift, and Kylo turns away from the thread of _unworthiness_ pulling at her in order to sink further into the sensations.

Kylo feels Rey shift at her side, the cold becoming more noticeable as Rey sits up. Kylo opens her mouth to protest the loss, but before she can Rey's other lands on her stomach, fingers circling her navel teasingly. Kylo's muscles jump at the sensation, and she feels amusement radiating down their bond.

It's that, more than anything, that makes her feel safe, though it should by rights enrage her that the girl finds something funny in her weakness. But it's different, somehow, not at all like poking at old wounds, and Kylo imagines she can feel the tendrils of Rey's amusement curling around her like a physical thing. Binding her to Rey, pinning her to the floor, and Kylo ... _wants_.

She can feel it building warm in the pit of her stomach, a hungry thing soothed into patience as Rey's hand strokes gently up and down her abdomen. Rey's teasing with intent now, fitting her fingers into the hollows between Kylo's ribs and not coming close to where her nipples are hardening into stiff peaks under her breastband.

 _Yes_ , Kylo thinks, as she slips deeper into the feeling. It's a hazy soft green, lit by pinpricks of light where Rey's calloused fingers catch on the scars of her torso.

 _Blaster bolt_ , her memory supplies, as Rey's hands skim over her side. _Force lightning_ , over her left breast. _Vibro-volgue_ , nearly dead centre. Some of them, she knows, are new since the last time Rey saw her topless, but if they give her pause, she doesn't show it. Instead, she seems to linger on them, fit her hand over them like she's trying to memorise their shape, draws lines between them like she's creating new constellations.

A whole new galaxy for Kylo to get lost in, except she wouldn't ever be lost again if only Rey would follow.

Kylo loses track of time on the floor like this, Rey's hands roaming her body so softly as to be almost innocent. And maybe that's all it is for her, Kylo thinks, in the cruel distant part of her that can still form thoughts when all she wants to do is drift. Maybe it's just an idle curiosity, something to while away the time until this deeper level of the bond falls out from under them and Rey can go back to bed, leaving a sleepy, no-longer-crying Kylo behind her.

But Kylo isn't sleepy at all. All of her senses have sharpened, even as her thoughts have dulled. She can feel the cold floor beneath her, the webs of light Rey's fingers leave as they trace across her skin. When Rey's lips land with impossible gentleness on an electrowhip scar, she lets out a strangled cry that sounds everything like please.

"You really want this," Rey murmurs. She sounds very far away, even though Kylo can still feel her hands on her chest. Her lips on the inside of her wrist. "What do you want, Kylo? _Breha_."

"Anything." Her voice cracks, and it's a lie, or it feels like it should be, because Kylo's sure that if Rey stops touching her she'll die. But then she wouldn't have to think anymore, would never have to see Rey walk away again, and maybe _anything_ isn't a lie after all.

"Oh." Rey sounds surprised, so breathless that Kylo finally has to open her eyes to see the state of her. Rey's eyes are wide, dark and sparkling in the dim light. Her hair falls loose over her shoulders, and she, too, is dressed for sleep in a sleeveless tunic and leggings. She could be anywhere in the galaxy and yet she's also _here_ , on Kylo's floor, and for all her protests earlier, Kylo can read desire in her pink-flushed cheeks, in the bond that she's made no attempt to sever.

It's too much, Rey's desire nearly a match for her own, and it's unexpected — hoping isn't expecting, but she had hardly acknowledged even the hope — and overwhelming, and Kylo's eyes flutter shut again as Rey slips a hand under her.

"Sit up for me," Rey orders, her hand gentle and firm pressing into the small of her back, and Kylo goes pliant in her arms, not so much moving as allowing herself to be moved. "Good girl," Rey murmurs as her deft fingers unknot the breastband, and Kylo's whimper owes more to Rey's words than to the shock of cold air against her tight nipples as the fabric falls to her lap.

Rey makes a soft noise of appreciation, and Kylo laughs. "Not so long ago you wanted me to cover them up."

"Yeah, well." Rey's eyes are fixed on Kylo's breasts, and Kylo has to fight the urge to lie back, to stretch out and present herself for Rey's examination. She focusses on holding herself still, on Rey holding her up, on holding her breath until, just maybe, Rey might say _good girl_ again.

Kylo has never been good, but Rey reminds her of what it's like to want, to _try_.

But Rey doesn't say anything, just slowly lowers Kylo back to the floor, her gaze locked on Kylo's the entire time. _What does she see?_ Kylo wonders, for the brief moment Rey holds her up suspended out of time, and then Kylo's back hits the ground and Rey takes a nipple in her mouth and Kylo never wants to think again.

She doesn't know how long she floats there, in the lovely warmth of Rey's mouth. There's the odd memory at the back of her head, that this could end at any moment, that it's _too quiet_ — but she ignores it, swims away, arches her back to push her breasts more firmly against Rey.

It's good when it's quiet, she decides, as Rey switches to her other, neglected breast. Rey knows exactly what she needs, even before Kylo can form specific wants; knows when to suck, knows when to pull back and kiss more lightly, knows when to worry a nipple between her teeth and never threaten to break skin.

Rey isn't teasing anymore. Kylo doesn't know why, doesn't know when she moved from the idle curiosity of the first chaste kisses to this focussed campaign of pleasure, but she can't bring herself to care. She can hear herself moaning, can see the top of Rey's head as she moves between Kylo's breasts, and as she squirms on the floor in search of _more_ she can feel her underthings almost painfully damp between her legs.

She's not quite present enough to be _impatient_ but a part of her wonders dimly whether Rey has any intention of ever moving from her breasts. Kylo doesn't quite understand the appeal — they're too large, easy targets more easily scarred, but Rey's tongue dips over and between the scars with ease, cataloguing the noises Kylo makes, doing everything she can to get Kylo to make the most pleased ones over and over.

She would never dream of telling Rey to do anything else, just as she would never dream of reaching down to touch her own throbbing clit. Rey knows what makes her feel good.

Rey knows what makes her _good_.

It isn't until Rey sits back, her hand pressing firm on Kylo's stomach in an almost-promise of future pleasure, that Kylo sees her face again. Her expression is open, her cheeks flushed with excitement, and when Kylo smiles, languid but with just a hint of uncertainty — _why did you stop, wasn't I good?_ — Rey leans down to kiss her again, unpractised tongue on another quest to wring moans out of Kylo, and Rey, too, is good, so Kylo obliges.

She can't imagine wanting to do anything else.

Rey's gentleness is still surprising, even as Kylo yields in any way she can think of. "Are we doing this?" Rey asks softly against her lips.

Kylo rolls her eyes and spreads her legs in silent answer, silently begging Rey not to make her verbalise the _please_ sitting bitter at the back of her tongue.

Rey's left hand drifts down to stroke softly up and down Kylo's thigh, while her right pinches each of Kylo's nipples one last time. Kylo groans at the reminder of how close to oversensitive Rey had pushed her already, and the sight of her own breasts, full and pink and such a contrast to Rey's long tanned fingers only makes her wetter, makes her regret her spread legs.

But then Rey looks down, sees the wet spot between Kylo's legs, and says, " _oh_ ," with such reverence that Kylo resolves to do whatever she has to get Rey to make that sound again.

"Take these off?" Rey asks, tapping lightly at the jut of Kylo's hipbone. But it's not a question, not really, and Kylo's lifting her hips for Rey almost before she's finished asking the question.

The shock of cold air against her overheated cunt sends shivers racing up and down Kylo's body and she moans helplessly, every inch of her skin and all of her insides too throbbing with the relentless aching need to be touched, the weight of Rey's gaze so like a physical thing and yet so far from being _enough_.

There's the same odd reverence in Rey's gaze when she cups Kylo's mound, eyes widening when she feels Kylo's wetness against her hand, and Kylo bites down on her own hand to stifle a scream, feeling her whole body jerk at the touch.

No one's ever touched her like this before, with such a slow care as Rey strokes through her folds. No one but her has ever touched her cunt before at _all_ , and while Kylo is no stranger to the theoretical mechanics of sex with another person or the simple chore of getting herself off, Rey's touch is so different, so new, so _right_ that it feels like something else entirely.

"There you are," Rey says softly, her voice trembling like she's just discovered the galaxy's most precious secret, and Kylo has to shut her eyes again because while Rey's touch is light the look in her eyes is anything but, and if Kylo tries to hold onto it for too long she's sure she'll die.

Instead she sinks back into the comforting dark, where she doesn't have to put words to the feeling of Rey's fingertips rubbing gentle circles around her clit, to the knowledge that she's so wet she can smell herself.

She just has to float, because she knows, impossibly, that Rey wants her, that Rey will take care of her.

"Kylo?" Rey asks, and there's a soft note of concern in her voice that Kylo doesn't like at all. In the silence, her fingers still against Kylo's clit, and that's even worse.

"Mhm," Kylo hums absently, reaching down to fit her fingers over Rey's own, to urge her to move again. It's _slow_ , the long reach down her body, slow and warm like she's moving through a dream.

Maybe this is a dream. Why else would Rey be here, touching her like this?

"You still with me?" Rey's fingers are hot too. Kylo can feel them, burning beautifully against her cunt, pressing down almost reluctantly when Kylo urges her. Too much of the desert sun in her blood, Kylo thinks, but the thought's gone before she can put words to it.

"You're not with me," is what she ends up saying instead, and almost immediately she can feel the frustrated tears spring to her eyes again. She had been good, Rey had _told_ her she'd been good, and then she'd gone and —

But Rey isn't pulling her hand away, even though Kylo can _feel_ the strangled disappointment echoing down their bond, its source obscured. Instead Rey drags her fingers across Kylo's slit, sliding her hand out from under Kylo's and leaving her to play with her own clit as Rey applies just enough pressure to remind Kylo that, for the moment, through the Force, she _is_ here.

It's enough to send her mind spinning out again into the wonderful hazy space that's just grey light and the lovely firm feeling of Rey's hand stroking her cunt, the stickiness on her inner thighs so similar and so much better than the tear tracks dying on her cheeks. There's no durasteel floor under her, no ceiling waiting as she floats up and _up_ , just Rey's fingertips at her entrance, not quite teasing but not giving her ... "More."

But she's unprepared for the feeling of Rey actually giving her more, for the fullness of Rey's fingers inside her, for the tense fluttering of her inner muscles clenching around Rey's fingers as if she could keep Rey inside her forever.

"Like this?" she asks, but Kylo's beyond words, beyond doing anything but shivering on the floor trying to pull all of Rey closer, close enough to slip under her skin and...

Rey must read something, in her face or in the bond, to give her a sign, because her face smooths out into another one of those curious, delighted smiles as she pulls her fingers out.

Before Kylo can figure out how to claw her way back long enough to protest, Rey's swapped hands, tangling her damp fingers with Kylo's and pressing back in with what can't possibly be her whole hand but _feels_ like it.

In the silence of the Force bond she can _hear_ how wet she is, the soft slick sounds as Rey fucks her slowly, one more sensation wrapping around her in this new space she's discovered with Rey.

She thinks about asking for more. She thinks about pretending this moment will last the rest of the night, that Rey will stay this time.

Mostly, though, she thinks about lifting her hips to meet every thrust of Rey's fingers, about clutching Rey's hand so tightly she can feel her fingers slipping against sweat or maybe blood, about the waves of pleasure washing up and down her spine as she arches into the infinite nothing around them, about how Rey could snap her in half with just two words if she ever said _good girl_ again.

And then Rey curls her fingers and presses down on Kylo's clit with her thumb, and Kylo isn't thinking at all anymore, just tasting salt on her lips and screwing her eyes shut so tightly she sees supernovae exploding in the white, and she's flying, flying, _gone_.

When Kylo comes back to herself enough to blink her eyes open, she thinks for a moment that nothing has changed. She's still crying, Rey's fingers are still inside of her — but it is different, because Rey's colder now, insubstantial.

"I wish you could come back with me," Rey whispers, or maybe she just thinks it, her physical projection fading even as Kylo imagines she can feel herself sinking even deeper into Rey's mind. "Breha, I wish..."

 _I wish, too_ , Kylo thinks, and she rolls over and opens her mouth because now, maybe now, the words will be right and they will —

But Rey is already gone.


End file.
